#slightly drunk sorry if this is incoherent

[teal-fiend]

Drunk pred

Tw: drunk, semi-willing prey, fatal vore implied

Summary: pred gets drunk and orders a prey, then has an emotional dining experience

–

Slumped over on their couch, bottle in hand, phone in the other, the predator takes a long, bleary stare at their screen, trying to navigate the food delivery app. 

The room is empty, and their belly growls faintly, reminding them they haven’t had anyone in there in a while. 

“Oh, hush, you,” they mutter, giving their own stomach a poke. “I’m working on it.”

They’d been drinking, alone, which was a fun activity kind of, but anyway they’d suddenly gotten really really hungry. And they really weren’t in a position to go out hunting, so they thought they’d order something. 

After some less-than-steady swipes and a few failed clicks, they finally manage to order a prey for themselves. After typing something incoherent in the notes for the driver, they throw their phone down on the couch. It bounces and lands on the floor, but the pred doesn’t notice. 

They’re still holding the bottle, so they decide to finish that off. And before they know it, there’s a knock at the door. Stumbling slightly, they open it to find their prey, wide-eyed and looking a little unsure as they glance from the predator to the now empty wine bottle in their hand.

“Welcome!” the predator declares, swaying slightly as they motion their “guest” inside. “Sooo glad you could made it! C’mere, c’mere, don’t be shy! You’re… you’re exactly what I ordered.”

The prey steps inside, hesitant. Their predator seems, well, drunk. Honestly, they could probably escape pretty easily. Their predator would not be hard to out-maneuver. But that wouldn’t be good for business. And besides, the predator seemed really, really happy that they were here. 

The prey is guided inside the pred’s apartment, which is mostly well put together, spare a few bottles. 

The pred sits the prey down on the couch, arranging them like a doll, before sitting down next to them.

“Listen to this,” they slur, guiding the prey’s head right to their stomach, where the wine and other similar liquids slosh and gurgle around noisily. The prey’s left ear is pressed right up against the pred’s already slightly bloated stomach - through the fabric of their shirt, the prey is forced to listen. 

“That’s where you’re going, soon enough!” The pred says happily. 

The prey, a bit alarmed, starts to pull away, but the predator only tightens their arm around them, sighing. 

“Sorry about this,” the predator says, as they look down at their own belly, as if a little offended by it. The prey feels something drop onto their neck, a tear? The pred is crying a bit. 

“You know, I bet you’re a great person. And now I have to… well, eat you up.

I guess it’s natural, right? I’m a predator, it’s what I have to do. To survive.”

The prey, with their head smooshed into the predator’s belly, tries to be reassuring. “I-It’s okay,” they stammer, caught between alarm and the weird urge to comfort the sloshed predator. 

“Really, I knew what I was getting into, and it’s… fine…?”

The predator releases their grip, and the prey sets themself upright, a little dizzy. 

“Oh, you’re just being nice,” the predator says, wiping their face, “but I appreciate it.

I really don’t wanna eat you - well I do, but only because I’m so hungry. I wish I wasn’t so hungry all the time, it’s so - tiring. But yeah.”

The predator says, “I’m just going to get it over with now.” Not giving the prey any time before they sloppily start the process of fitting them into their mouth.

It’s not graceful—the predator keeps sobbing, and then gagging- however they are ultimately and primordially determined to get the prey into their stomach, that was what this was all for, after all. 

Soon enough, the prey is tucked into their belly, settling into the swirling, wine-soaked warmth.

The predator gives a long, satisfied sigh, patting their now very full, gurgling stomach with a pleased hum.

Which is Followed by an aggressive hiccup, jolting them and their prey. They mumble a few unintelligible words, some apology, and maybe a compliment to their taste, before keeling over on the couch (now being the only person remaining on it), eyes already fluttering shut. In moments, they’re fast asleep, snoring. Leaving the prey nestled inside, listening to the sloshing, rumbling sounds of digestion beginning. 

[transmechanicus]

What was your opinion on the HH book Mechanicus, if you've read it?

It was okay. I like Graham McNiel as a person and i like many of his characters but some of the plot threads he’s created are…dated, i think is the best word. The concept of the Void Dragon on Mars is something that has been dropped by omission from the canon, and iirc hasn’t been mentioned at all by other authors. The HH books particularly evolved over the course of the series, and Mechanicum being like the 3rd book means it was written in a completely different background vs the Siege of Terra. So this leaves a lot of its larger plot points COMPLETELY abandoned and arguably impossible to even properly follow up on. It’s a good book, but the way it ends is impossible to take seriously in the modern 40k canon imo.

[kennedybaby]

they're talking.

talking as if they hadn't been taking turns on you for hours, folding you into different positions and buried their cocks between your puffy folds as your freshly-manicured nails rakes their back. "jesus," you took a sharp breath, stomach caves in slightly as dick pushes your knees up to your chest, easily slipping his fat cock into you. you can hear the way he gulped as your dripping cunt throbs around him, his eyes shuts tight, "i swear..." the rest of his sentence grow incoherent as dick leaves sloppy kisses on your neck.

"wait, dick—" your words were cut off when jason slapped the tip of his cock against your swollen lips.

"hush." jason mumbled under his breath, eyes narrowed when you poked your tongue and lazily runs along the vein on his length. "sorry, princess." dick whispers, his lips forming a small smile. "a bet is a bet, and you lose so..." you rolled your eyes at the way dick pretends to empathise you but he's clearly too pussy drunk to even form something to make you feel better.

dick moved his hips slowly, face buried into your neck. big, calloused palms easily lifts your hips up to bury his cock deeper as he lets out a deep groan. "...so you gotta back it up." jason continues, pushing his tip into your mouth as he watches you instinctively puckered your cheeks and bobs your head up and down with his fingers tangled with your locks to keep your head in place. "fuuuck, startin' to think you purposely lose from how good you're slobbering all over my cock." the both of them chuckled as dick playfully nudges jason in his thigh and clicks his tongue.

"don't be mean." jason scoffs at dick's words.

"i'm not. look at her, she's not even denying it." dick turned his eyes back on you, watching as your eyes gradually gets heavy with your mouth filled with jason's dick as you subconsciously rolls your hips against his own.

"guess she's not."

© kennedybaby.

[surielstea]

Hangovers & tattoos

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader wakes up in Azriel’s bed with a mysterious tattoo that eerily matches his.

Warnings: slightly suggestive, all silly fluff though

2.4k words

Sunlight streamed through the open curtains haphazardly, my brows twitching together as I groggily pulled myself from the depths of sleep.

I awake with a groan, rubbing at my eyes that had been sealed shut. As soon as I open them I'm met with a horrible pound to my head, my entire body aching with every movement I make. I rolled onto my stomach, stuffing my head in the cold pillows with a huff.

I had to make an effort to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth as I settled over the fact that going back to sleep would not be an option.

I twist onto my side, staring at a winged figure with his head against my pillows, dark hair cascading over his eyes. I smile at the sight of Azriel sleeping so peacefully. Then I realize he's sleeping so peacefully, in my bed. I jolt, scrambling away from his sleeping figure and inevitably tumbling off the mattress.

I hit the ground with a hard thud, followed by my hiss of pain as the hardwood sends paralyzing shock waves throughout my entire body.

Before I can collect myself I hear an incoherent mumble that came from the Shadow Singer. I tense, bending down to avoid being caught sneaking around in my own bedroom.

"Are you alright princess?" His voice was deeper than usual, still filled with sleep. I freeze for a moment, wondering how he had managed to know it was me, even if he did see me he was still half asleep. Then I quickly void that thought and curse myself for not thinking about his shadows, the same dark tendrils that were now twining around my ankles.

"I'm fine," Is all I can manage.

"Gods, my head is pounding," He grits out and I'm unsure if I should get back up onto the bed or stay down on the ground out of his sight, where I felt much safer.

Last night... it had been a blur entirely, the only thing I can remember is Cassian handing me and Azriel our first shot of the night, followed by many, many more. I clench my eyes shut, attempting to fish anything more from the night before out but I come up blank. "We didn't uh... did we?" I murmur, the pregnant silence is heavy as he thinks over the dilemma.

"Are you sore?" He says and I roll my eyes at his arrogance.

"No," I scoff.

"Then no, we didn't," He hums.

That hadn't been good enough, so I looked down at my outfit, a sigh of relief leaving me as I realized I was still wearing the same underwear from last night.

Last night when I seemed to obtain a case of amnesia. Cassian and Azriel had invited me to go out, Mor tagged along, and then... nothing. I had no idea why Azriel was in my bed or what drunk decisions I made to get that to happen.

Slowly, I rise from the floor and rush towards my wardrobe, still dressed in the short glittery dress I had boldly picked last night.

"What are you doing?" He rubs at his eyes, staring at me as I begin to take off the straps of my dress. I froze, realizing he was still there.

This headache wasn't making our situation any better.

"Changing?" I say, looking down at my rumpled outfit.

"This is my room," He said, sitting up from the pillows, the sheets falling off of him and revealing his bare chest, toned with rippling muscle. I swallow thickly, glancing around the room that was now so obviously not mine. I nearly crumbled from embarrassment, my cheeks tinging a scarlet red.

"Right, sorry, I'll go," I sidestep towards the door and his dark brows crease.

"Wait," He calls, slipping from the warm sheets I had gotten such amazing sleep in, and follows me to the door. "I'll make you breakfast, as a thank you for... whatever took place last night," He glances back to the bed and then back to me.

"You don't have to," I shake my head, eager to get out of the ordeal entirely.

"I want to, c'mon," His hand makes contact with my lower back as he guides me from his bedroom and down the long hallway.

I had been crushing on the Shadow Singer for over a year now. It had been unbearable to watch him bring other girls to bed since simple one-night stands with no connection aside from physical, but still, I wish I had even that amount of relation with him. But now he’s got his hand on my back, about to make me breakfast just because we woke up in the same bed together. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get over him if I tried.

I made coffee while he worked on breakfast, my head felt as if it was swelling into my skull, a painful feeling that stabbed into the most sensitive parts of my brain.

I softly groaned as I poured a heaping spoonful of sugar into my steaming cup. I left Azriel's mug unattended, knowing he preferred the bitterness of it while I simply drank it for the caffeine, wanting to get rid of the taste altogether.

A low whistle sounds from down the hall, paired with a heavy set of footsteps that were unmistakably Cassian's. "Morning you two," The male said as soon as he spotted Azriel and us silently moving through the kitchen.

"Morning," Azriel grumbles but I can't even function enough to manage a reply. Cassian's hulking figure brushes past me and toward Azriel, where he had been by the stove. "Hands off," Azriel spat, and I hadn't been watching but I could only assume Cassian was attempting to steal from the pan while Azriel swatted him away.

"Hey, I didn't know you got a new tattoo," Cassian gasps and I whirl around to look at the two males, my eyes narrowing on a sketch of ink over the Shadow Singers' fourth finger, swirling down onto the back of his palm and wrapping up his wrist. Azriel looks at it as if he's never seen it before, his brows twitching together. Cassian gasps again and we look at him with expectant expressions, waiting for him to explain.

"That's a mating ceremony tattoo," He mumbled beneath his breath. Azriel’s eyes snapped to me like he had something to confess.

"A what?" I nearly choke on my own air. Mating? If Azriel was mated already there was no way in hel I'd ever have a chance. I knew I shouldn't have waited so long for him to ask me out, knew I should’ve asked him myself and faced rejection.

"A mating tattoo, matching with your significant other, you get them during the ceremony," He explains as if we genuinely hadn’t known what a mating tattoo is.

"That's ridiculous, I think I'd remember mating with someone, I wouldn't even know where to begin to find someone like that," Azriel scoffs, eyes now avoiding me at all costs and glancing up at the ceiling, to the stove where he had been cooking.

"Well then I suppose we need to find who has the matching tattoo," Cassian hums, then dramatically gasps louder than his last two, pulling his hands from his pockets and inspecting his unmarked hands.

"Oh thank gods," Azriel sighed in relief with a heavily sarcastic tone when recognizing that Cassian's hands were bare of ink.

"Cass be serious, you'd know if it was you," I argue, rolling my eyes at his idiocracy.

"You'd be able to feel something like that," I bring up my hands to show him.

“Az would probably know himself—" I start but I quickly cut myself off when I notice a black smudge on the bottom of my ring finger.

I flip my hands around and stare at them intently. The black tattoo on my left hand embedded into my skin as if it's always been there, and now that I knew I swore it pulsed with life. I ran my finger over it, then began to frantically rub at it, wondering if it’ll come off, if this was all some sick joke. But it remained, and then all of it came crashing down on me.

Mated tattoos. Mated. Azriel and I are mated.

"You're my," I couldn't even get the word out. "My," I breathed through the word, staring down at my hand, black ink wrapping around my wrist, up the back of my palm with swirls and wisps of black until twining around my ring finger entirely. Mine was much lighter than his, more delicate, but the same pattern nonetheless.

He held his hand out towards me, palm facing mine. I tentatively met it with my own, settling my palm against his, his hand much, much larger than mine yet somehow the tattoos had matched up, each line on my skin swirling into one on his.

"Gods, how drunk were we last night?" I sigh, a line coming between my brows.

I pull my hand away from his despite the magnetic force pushing us together telling me not to. "I'm going to leave you two to it," Cassian slowly removes himself from the uncomfortable situation.

"Wait, do you remember anything?" I whirl around to face him. He looks between us, and then his eyes go wide, staring at neither of us but rather what's between us, a golden tether tying our souls, binding them beyond just connection.

"Maybe ask Mor," He rubbed at the back of his head, and I knew with the movement that his hangover had been just as horrid as mine.

"Thanks anyway Cass," I mumble and he nods before excusing himself down the hall.

I slowly turned back to my coffee which was no longer steaming.

It was an effort to even swallow, the silence between us thick with tension, filled entirely with questions that don't have answers, and answers to questions we were too afraid to ask.

"So, mates, that's pretty cool," I mumbled beneath my breath and a smile curved at his lips, attempting to suppress the grin but ultimately failing.

"This is absurd," He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Shouldn't you be taken by The Frenzy?" I wonder, glancing over to him. He swallows and I watch as his throat bobs with effort, avoiding my gaze.

"Oh, I am,"

"What do you mean?" I spin around to face him, my mug cupped in my hands as I stare at him curiously.

"I hadn't noticed it at first, it's kind of how I always feel," He confesses and my brows crease, my confusion doubling over.

"Towards you I mean, I've known we're mates for a while now," His admission nearly makes me choke on my coffee.

"You didn't— why didn't you tell me?" I stutter, placing my cup down before I drop it. He had known all this time? Hasn't he picked up on the hints I had been attempting to give him? Or had he been dragging me along in fear I'd reject the bond?

"I would've told you sooner if I knew you'd find out like this," He gestures between us, at the golden line tethering my core to his I realize. "It's unfair," He adds.

"What is?"

"You were drunk, you didn't get to choose to accept it with good conscience," He explains with a sigh, my new mate clearly in distress about the events he could've avoided if he just confessed a day earlier. "And now you can't reject it, and I feel like I somehow forced it upon you," His hands fall to his sides in defeat and my heart softens. And maybe it was the power of the mating bond that gave me the confidence to take a step forward and grab his tattooed hand with my own.

"Azriel," I start, lacing his fingers through mine. "I would never have rejected you," I confess, looking into his eyes with only truth in my gaze. He stared for a moment, taking my words for what they promised.

"But we're friends," He argued, afraid we just ruined something that was already good, and I had known the feeling well for the past few years. But now I knew he felt the same way, and there were no longer any doubts I had about us being together.

"Did you only have feelings for me because you knew we were mates?" I tilt my head, taking another brave step forward.

"I uh— no, I liked you before," He stumbled over his sentence and a smile tugged at my lips at the effect I had on him when I got closer, my chest coming to press against his and he didn't move, we stand in the middle of the kitchen, not worried about the rest of the world around us.

"Good, we're even then," I nod.

"Even?" He arches a perfect brow.

"I liked you before, too," I confess and his eyes widen only a fraction, but it was a large reaction from the stoic Spymaster nonetheless.

"So, is it okay if I kiss you?" He asked quietly as if this was a forbidden act. Two mates kissing, so simple, yet held so much meaning.

"Yes Az, it's okay if you kiss me," I consent with a soft smile and he mirrors it, tentatively leaning in as he presses his lips to mine.

Something blooms in the pit of my stomach, something that's always been sprouting there but never had the nutrients to grow. Though, as he kissed me everything had felt so complete, like a puzzle piece I had been trying to solve for years slotting into place.

He pulls back and I think to follow him but instead, I allow the separation and look up at him with a bashful smile. His eyes are glazed over with something I haven't seen before, a mix of adoration and lust. He presses his lips to mine again, this time more confidently with little hesitation as he cups my jaw in one of his hands while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me into him.

"You feel The Frenzy now?" I whisper against his lips and he nods eagerly. "It's fucking, painful," He sighs, needing me closer, so much closer. "There's only one way to fix that, hm?" I taunt and his grin turns wolfish. "You're sure Princess?" He arches a brow and I now with a willing smirk. "Please," I hum, pecking up the side of his jaw.

With that, he swooped me up into his arms and practically winnowed us back to his bedroom, making me giggle in both delight and surprise as we landed hard on the bed I woke up in this morning.

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[spookieloverslittlemind]

Michael Myers x gn!reader

tw: references to being spiked (not by Michael tho) and narrowly-avoided SA, obviously murder and gore referenced x

2.7k words

gif credits: @victoryrifle

Loud And Clear…

There are none that know Michael Myers' motivations. In truth, there are none that know whether Michael knows his own. To many, Michael is a killing machine who will stop at nothing, with no end goal, and yet...he is patient. There must be a degree of contemplation in a man - or monster - who chooses when to kill and when to return to dormancy; who refuses to run in any circumstance . And if Michael chooses who to kill, he has his own motivations for those he does not kill, too.

In the midst of a Halloween party that got out of hand enough for the police to be called, Michael Myers appears as nothing more than another person dressed for the occasion. While countless drunk and disorderlies are being arrested and shoved into police cars, there are none to notice the slightly-out-of-place sight of a man walking with steps too rigid to be anything other than sober, to sit himself in the back of a police car. And then, he waits. For what, is open to interpretation. Perhaps he is waiting for a couple of cops to take the drivers and passengers' seats in front of him. Perhaps he is waiting for them to drive him to the cell they intend to put him in, and perhaps he has not yet decided whether he will let them.

What Michael did not consider, however, was that a police officer would be foolish enough to shove someone else into the back of the very same police car he occupied. An easy enough mistake to make - The Shape is not the easiest to perceive unless he makes himself known - but it is a mistake that could have very easily cost someone's life in the age old tale of police negligence. Except, as two black eyeholes stare down at the crumpled mess of a person that has been haphazardly thrown onto the seat beside him, Michael only tilts his masked head. Having never been the most socially aware creature, he doesn't quite understand why you appear barely conscious, more so than the drunk people he had observed at the party. In the rare microseconds of your heavy eyelids opening, your eyes appear bleary...similar to the eyes Michael has witnessed life departing from, at his hands. Or knife. But Michael did not cause that look in your eyes. Something about that seemed...wrong, to him.

"Sorry...'m sorry..." Your mumbles are borderline incoherent as you try and fail to pull yourself up into a seated position, only to collapse on shaking arms and have your face pressed into Michael’s sleeve.

An apology? He cannot recall a time he has received one of those. From what he understands, an apology should have a reason; nothing you have done prompts an apology to Michael, in his mind. Perhaps his perception is too black and white for this, he concludes.

Your breathing is too laboured. Too staggered. Michael can hear it. Of all things, breathing is one of the easiest for him to read. Social cues are lost on Michael, but by your breathing, he can determine that you are not frightened, or upset; you are breathing as though injured, but he sees no blood. Lifting his other hand, Michael pushes your hair in different directions with uncharacteristic gentleness, checking over your head until he is satisfied you have no bruises there that could have caused your confusing state. This is drunk, but worse. It does not seem you are aware of your surroundings at all, except for the fact you have acknowledged someone is observing you in a less than dignified state, hence your apology. In fact, it would appear your senses are completely incapacitated, because you actively lean into Michael’s hand on your head as though it were a caress. Michael does not caress, he checks. But, he watches the way your head fits against his hand. For a moment, he does not move it. And then he does. Very slowly, he uses his hold on your head to guide you down, until you are lying on the backseat and no longer partially on him.

There is nobody to ask Michael why he gets out of the police car and closes the door behind him, but even if there were, they would receive no answer.

Clinging to your last thread of consciousness, your ears just about detect the sounds of distant yells and screams. Loud thuds. Smashing glass. With it all sounding so far away, and with the nausea and confusion that has rendered you almost paralysed, your survival instincts are...dulled, to say the very least. As far as you're aware, you blink, and the sounds are suddenly clearer. You are no longer still - though you are incapable of feeling completely still while your head and stomach turn so violently, but you can acknowledge the motion of being carried by someone. Or something. Flashing lights, red and blue against heavy eyelids. The only sound left is police sirens, fading until the heavy footsteps match the slow thudding of your heart. Or is it his, pressed to your ear.

It is not the first time Michael has carried dead weight. He doubts it will be the last. The only difference is that typically, the dead weight he carries is actually dead, and he is posing it in a way he sees fit. He has never carried someone back to his family home, but any who have labelled Michael Myers as predictable haven't lived to hold that belief for very long.

To you, no time has passed since you tasted your first drink at the bar; your eyes closed there and opened to a completely unfamiliar place. There is pain everywhere you are capable of feeling it. You are lying in a bed - notably, you have been very obviously tucked into said bed - that is not yours, in a house you do not recognise, and you dread to think up the kind of one night stand you may have had if you remember absolutely nothing of the night before. On the bedside table, there is a glass of water. It's a struggle to pull yourself up into a sitting position, but you manage to press your back against the pillows to remain upright. The pounding in your head does little to assist you in comprehending your surroundings as you glance around the room, but the towering figure staring out from the window with his back to you is something you would struggle to miss, even in your present state of...well, judging by the mask you can see on that man's head, delirium?

"H-Hello, um, I'm really sorry," An immediate apology being the second thing Michael has ever heard you say. If, this time, slightly more coherently. "I don't know where I am."

Michael brought you here. Of course you do not know where you are. That does not constitute an apology. Politeness is very confusing to Michael, particularly when he has never apologised for anything.

However, at the sound of your voice, Michael turns from the window to face you. He does not move closer, and he does not say anything. But he does stare at the glass of water, placed on the bedside table. His masked head tilts. A question, or an instruction, you can't be sure.

"O-Oh, uh...thank you." You realise this strange, silent man was considerate enough to give you a place to stay and water to drink, and the acknowledgement that you can feel you are still fully clothed beneath the bedcovers in a Halloween costume that is particularly difficult to remove is reassuring you that you weren't taken advantage of last night, either.

With that in mind, you take the glass of water in your hands and begin drinking down its contents like an animal dying of thirst. Only when you place the empty glass back on the bedside table, does Michael's tilted head straighten. And then, he starts walking out of the room.

"Wait!" You call out, but you can already hear his heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Scrambling unsteadily out of bed, you attempt to run after him, but by the time you collapse on weak legs at the top of the stairs, Michael is standing at the bottom of them. Hearing you fall to the ground, Michael turns back to you. Staring up at you from the foot of the stairs. A crumpled mess again, this time in his home.

Lacking any sense of urgency, Michael ascends the staircase. Swings you over his shoulder. Drops you back in bed. And proceeds to stare down at you. It isn't until that moment you realise just how much admonishment two black eyeholes are capable of conveying in a single look. At this distance, you can see dried blood on Michael's hands. Staining his boiler suit. Your eyes widen.

"I...Whose blood is that..." You dare to wonder aloud.

Michael hears your question, but understands that what you are really asking is whether the blood on his hands is yours. Without warning, Michael grabs the bedcovers and pulls them off of your body, allowing you to look down at yourself, your Halloween costume - to see that you are not bleeding, or injured, and that the only blood on you is courtesy of Michael's handprints when he had carried you last night. While that's certainly an unconventional means of answering your question, he has at least partially answered it.

"Is it your blood?" Is the obvious followup query you present your saviour/kidnapper-who-may-or-may-not-have-seriously-harmed-someone.

Michael stares down at you. Towering over you, where he stands at the side of the bed. Nothing about his body language changes; he could nod or shake his head to communicate his response, but he doesn't. He just stares. And something in his stare almost makes you feel embarrassed for asking whether the blood staining his hands and clothes is his own. If Michael did answer you with words, he would tell you that he has no way of knowing exactly whose blood it is. That answer would not provide you much in the way of comfort.

The look in his empty eyes prompts you to avoid his gaze, lowering your head.

"Thank you for bringing me here- I don't know what happened to me last night. I was at this Halloween party, and I remember a guy buying me a drink, and I was standing at the bar, then..." You trail off, frowning to yourself as you realise just how little of the previous night you can recount. Typically, even after getting blackout drunk, you can remember more of a night than your first drink, but you've lost everything. You don't even recall having more than one drink.

Despite his general lack of awareness for social events, Michael is putting the pieces together faster than you. A man gave you a drink and then you remember nothing - something was in the drink. That seems obvious to Michael; a predator's instinct, you were given something to weaken you, physically and mentally, cloud your mind and render you incapable of fighting back. Michael can't understand the appeal of such a thing. Lends itself to a weak and pathetic predator, he would argue, but then again when Michael targets someone, they don't tend to live long enough to try and remember him. That said, Michael does take interest in your words. From the moment you mention "a guy", his masked head has tilted. That gesture is not a question, but a demand for more information.

What guy.

"I don't know, I'd never seen him before. He was dressed as the Joker, though- green wig and a purple suit." Your eyes are widening the more you describe the man, the realisation hitting you that the creep had clearly put something in your drink with the intention of doing God-knows-what to you once it kicked in.

Without another word from you, Michael leaves the room. This time, you don't bother trying to follow him. You hear the front door close behind him, and you sigh. Thankfully, on adjusting your sitting position in bed, you feel your phone digging into your back. A quick check of your location answers your question of where you are, and you're relieved to find you're not far from the friends’ house you were meant to stay at after the party. Said friend has already texted and called a dozen times, wondering if you are alive/got arrested with a bunch of the others; you text back to say you're fine, not dead, and not arrested.

The same cannot be said for the green-wigged, purple-suited man that spiked your drink last night, because he most certainly was amongst those that were arrested. And unlike the rest of them, that man will not leave his cell alive.

An hour or so later, the front door opens and closes again, followed by thudding footsteps up the stairs, until Michael fills the bedroom doorway once more. He approaches you steadily, one fist clenched. Standing beside the bed, Michael holds his fist out over your lap and uncurls his fingers. A silk necktie that is so soaked in blood you can no longer distinguish the original color of the fabric, lands on your thighs.

While you sit there, horrified and in a state of shock, staring down at the bloody tie, Michael turns and leaves the room again. His footsteps match the pounding of your own heart, ringing in your ears. The front door opens, but you do not hear him close it this time, and you understand that to be an offer of your freedom: you can stay or go, Michael is indifferent. But it is dawning on you that this silent stranger saved your life. Not only that, he avenged the trauma inflicted upon you, and saved however many others that man might have assaulted after you. So, with a newly warped sense of right and wrong, you text your friend to come and pick you up, then leave your phone on the bedside table, next to the empty glass. Gathering yourself as best you can, you very slowly get out of bed and make your way down the stairs, out of the open front door and onto the street. Within minutes, your friend is picking you up and you're recounting the most bizarre series of events with a smile on your face that you can hardly believe is there, the morning after getting spiked. Much to your friend's surprise, you don't ask her to drive you to your home or hers; you ask her to drop you at the nearest tech store.

By the time you are curled up in your own bed - having been checked over by a doctor and prescribed some painkillers and nausea tablets that won't react badly with the drugs you took without your consent - showered and cozy in your own pyjamas and recovering from the weirdest party experience of your life, your thoughts are still on the silent stranger. The shape. You made the executive decision to tell your friend you'd broken your phone at the party and it just managed to text her before it died, so you'd dropped it in the trash; neglecting to tell her the real reason you decided to purchase a new phone, on purpose.

There is a ding. Upstairs. A sound Michael has never heard in his own home. He follows the noise with a pace that does not accurately relay the extent of his curiosity. It leads him back into the bedroom, where he can see you made the bed before you left; politeness that he, again, does not understand. But the gesture is a reminder of your presence and for that, Michael feels...contented. A curious device sits on the bedside table that he did not place with the glass of water. Picking up the phone, the screen automatically lights up, showing a message from an unknown number.

You stare down at the text you have sent from your new phone, your heart pounding with a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety. Then, you get your answer.

And for the first time in human history, someone was satisfied by being left on read.

[propertyofwicked]

sambuca - LN

warnings: swearing, alcohol and mentions of being sick.

short fluff :) fewtrell!reader

this can be read as a stand alone or as a prequel to the secrets series!

the moment her friend ordered a round of black sambuca, she knew her night was going to turn in a horrible direction, but she was too drunk to care, necking the shot back and coughing as the liquid travelled down her throat. in her few years of adulthood, she’d yet to have a night end well after the shots got ordered.

as last orders were called, y/n started to panic. it was too late to call her brother to pick her up and she was far too drunk to walk home, but almost by instinct, she scrolled through her contacts, landing on her brothers best friend. in her drunken state, she didn’t seem to realise it was 2am and that he might be asleep - he always helped her, so why wouldn’t he now, she thought to herself.

her phone rang twice before he picked up.

“y/n?” lando grumbled, clearly haven just been woken up, “is everything ok?”

she replied, but it was completely incoherent, her words slurring into a mashup of her sentence.

“y/n? who are you with? is caitlin there?” he asked, and she nodded before realising he couldn’t see her and gave him a quick mhm.

“can you pass the phone to her please, angel?” he said, and the phone was being passed to the girls best friend, who was surprisingly still standing, and most importantly to lando, speaking sense.

“hiiii lando,” she said, slurring but still coherent, “is everything ok?”

“that’s what i want to ask you,” he laughed, “are you guys leaving now? do you need a lift home?”

“i don’t,” she said, hiccupping, “but i think your girl might need somewhere to crash for the night.”

“text me the pub you’re at, ill be there in 10 minutes.”

“ok - you might wanna bring a bucket.”

“i might not bring the mclaren then,” he laughed again, before hanging up, throwing a hoodie on and grabbing his car keys. he reached the door, before doubling back to the kitchen, picking up a plastic bag and a bottle of water. this was not his first rodeo, and he didn’t feel like having a repeat of the time she vomited in max’s car and his shoes.

when he pulled up outside the pub, it didn’t take him long to see y/n, crouched to the floor, back leaning against the wall of the pub, her poor friend stood next to her, reaching down slightly to stroke her hair. lando moved out of the car, walking round to where the girl was sat, quickly realising her eyes were streaming tears. crouching down to her level, his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“hey angel, what’s up? why are we crying?”

why was she crying? because she thought about how pretty and kind lando was and it made drunk little brain sad to think that he would never want her was the real answer, instead she settled for

“i don’t know,” she sad sadly, looking up at him and smiling slightly when their eyes met, “you won’t tell max about this, will you?”

“of course not,” he replied, although not sure what he was agreeing to hide from max. as he raised himself up to stand, he grabbed her arms to pull her up with him, although her balanced failed and she toppled into his chest - his arms came to rest on her waist to stabilise her.

“sorry,” she mumbled, looking up at him again, she was so close he could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“it’s ok y/n,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her back, before glancing to the girl besides her, “who gave her sambuca?”

“not me,” she defends herself, holding up her hands.

“fucks sake.”

“in my defence, by the time i tried to stop her, she’d already drank it.”

“it’s alright, this is going to be rough. worse for her though,” he responds, moving to turn y/n around in his arms and march her in the direction of his car, “you still fine to get home?”

“don’t worry about me, please just get her into a bed. or a sofa. or a bathroom.” and with that he helped y/n into the passenger seat, reaching across her to buckle her in.

“you smell nice,” she slurred into his ear as he moved back. he chose to ignore the comment, feeling his heart skip a beat, shut the door and jog back round to the drivers side.

“see you later, caitlin. message y/n when you get home safe please,” he adds, waving to the girl before climbing in the car himself.

“what are we gonna do with you?” he asks to no one, glancing to the girl hunched over in his passenger seat, pulling off slowly.

“hi,” she perks up after 5 minutes of silence, looking to the side to smile at him. his side profile is so pretty, she thinks to herself, before shaking any thoughts like that out her brain.

“hi yourself,” he responds, flicking the indicator on, “how you feeling?”

“im good.”

“you sure? i don’t need to pull over do i?”

“not yet. just, just keep driving slow. please,” she begs slightly.

“it’s ok we’re nearly there.”

“where is there?”

“my flat.”

“not max’s?”

“i don’t think you want max seeing you in this state. i don’t think max’s shoes want to see you in this state either,” he joked.

“HEY! that was one time. and i bought him new shoes after.”

“no you didn’t.”

“ok. you bought him new shoes, but i gave them to him,” she argues back, lando simply snorts in response.

“we’re here angel,” he says, coming to a slow stop. angel, she thought, i like when he calls me that.

she grabs the door handle, flinging the door open, and moves to stand up before bashing her head on the roof of the low car.

“fuck,” she exclaimed, “that was a bit silly of me, wasn’t it.”

“yes, it was,” lando replied bluntly, moving to take one of her hands in his, the other resting on the top of his car to provide a soft bumper if she hit her head again.

“are you mad at me?” she asks sadly, after seeing his jaw clench and unclench on the way to his flat.

“not at you, angel, never at you. im mad at whoever gave you sambuca.”

“i gave it to me,” she says, giggling. he simply shakes his head at her.

the moment the front door shuts, she’s sprinting to his bathroom, the mixture of drinks finally resurfacing in the back of her throat. lando follows quickly behind her, just in time to bend behind her and scoop her hair up out of her face, his spare hand moving to stroke her back softly.

“that’s it, get it all up,” he coos softly, “thank you for not doing this in my car,” although he doubts she can hear his remark.

“gonna sleep in my bed tonight, angel? is that ok? wanna keep an eye on you,” he asks her as she finally sits, resting her back on his stomach. she looks up at him, nodding slightly, eyes blinking heavily in exhaustion.

“need to take my make up off,” she says, still slurring but less than before. he nods before moving to his bathroom cabinet, pulling out a cleanser and wipes.

“why do you have those?”

“they’re yours, y/n. from the last time you and max stayed over after a night out.” she says nothing in response, simply leaning back into him again as he moves his arm around her to wipe away the makeup on her face. his actions are not to soft, but not too rough - again, this is not his first rodeo with a drunk y/n fewtrell. once he’s done, he shuffles out to his bedroom, leaving y/n on the bathroom floor, to wallow in self pity, she thought to herself. when he returns he throws a shirt at her, and a pair of his boxers for her to change in to.

“ill be in my room, come find me when you’re changed,” he says, turning on his heel to leave her in privacy. she stands to change, catching a glance at herself in the mirror.

jesus, i look so rough. i cannot sleep in that mans bed. this is bad. this is very bad.

but alas, y/n found herself climbing into lando’s bed mere minutes later, choosing comfort over the protection of her feelings.

“come ‘ere,” he says to her, pulling her gently towards him, her head coming to rest on his chest as his arms wrap around her, “why did you get so drunk y/n?”

“m’celebrating.”

“celebrating what?”

“life,” she says, she would’ve thought of a better reason had her heart not been beating a thousand times a minute.

“get some sleep. there’s some water on your side if you need it. your phones on charge next to it.”

“thank you, lan. for this, for picking me up, for dealing with my shit.”

“don’t mention it, angel. now, rest. ill deal with you in the morning.” now she may have been drunk, but she could feel lando’s lips pressing gently to the top of her head.

“turn it off,” she groans, light flooding behind her eye lids, lando chuckles.

“turn what off? the sun? sorry let me just tap into my divine powers and sort that out for you, your majesty.”

“shut up.”

“you started it.”

she groaned again, opening her eyes fully. quickly she realised she was laying on her side, her back pressed into lando’s back, his arms still tightly around her. her arm reaches out to grab her phone and check her messages.

“caitlin told me to tell you she’s home safe, she also said good luck - why is she wishing you luck?”

“probably due to the state you were in last night,” he laughs again.

“oh my god, im so sorry.”

“don’t be, it was funny.”

“funny? it was mortifying. my head hurts so bad.”

“have some water, there’s some paracetamol there for you as well.”

“no not like a headache. like my head actually hurts,” she adds, moving her arm to rub the stop on her head that ached.

“oh! that’ll be from when you smacked your head on the roof of my car,” he replies, moving his own hand up to her head to inspect the damage.

“no that’s so embarrassing i didn’t do that,” she denies, a red flush rising on her cheeks.

“i can ask security for the camera footage in the car park if you want.”

“shut up,” she said bluntly, as he bit the urge to respond with make me. he found himself quickly reminded of his promise last night. don’t tell max. the position he found himself in now was a sobering realisation as to how max really couldn’t know about this.

“you want a lift to max’s?” he asks suddenly.

“erm, no. could you take me to caitlin’s instead? all good if not, i can get an uber.”

“nah that’s fine, when do you wanna go?”

they moved swiftly on from max, both silently agreeing that any sign of y/n in lando’s clothes, hungover and crawling out of his car was a bad idea. a very bad idea.

[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; smut, purely self indulgent atsumu drabble bc i found out our mbti aren’t that compatible :( OR atsumu’s way of comforting you, pwp, unprotected s*x, cervix f*cking, creampie. wrote this while sick sorry. divider: cafekitsune.

── atsumu’s body hovered over your own, strong arms caged your head in between as he looked down at yu with that honeyed gaze you grew to love—a mix of pure lust, and adoration filled his hooded stare, his rosy lips parted to let out faux pained moans, and whimpers in the shape of your name.

atsumu looked past his flaxen strands that slightly covered his caramel eyes, hair unruly from the passionate kissing just mere minutes ago, “made jus’ for me—fuck!” the blonde gasped as he sinfully drew his hips back before languidly pushing his cock inside your sweet, sweet cunt.

a shameless, strangled whine slips past his lips at the feeling of your velvety walls kissing his most intimate part. atsumu reached for your hands, intertwining his with your own, and using them as leverage to fuck slow, and deep thrusts into you. he needed you to feel every inch of his veiny cock—every dip, and curve that had you rolling your eyes to the back of your head; atsumu was one to eagerly thrust into you on most occasions but tonight was different, he wanted to take his sweet time even if it meant pushing himself past his limits.

“see how yer pussy’s takin’ me so well, baby? like its meant ta be—ngh! don’t listen to that stupid website about not being compatible . . ‘m all yours,”

“yours to fuck, yours to love—yours to do whatever the hell y’want if it means makin’ you smile, yeah?”

you moan atsumu’s name, nails digging onto the back of his hand as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, sending a pleasurable bliss all over your sensitive body. atsumu momentarily pauses, his hips wickedly flush against yours, and cock sheathed deep inside your sopping cunt—his face fell to the crook of your neck as you sinfully squeeze around him, the feeling of climax gnawing at both your skins.

atsumu panted into your neck before desperately pushing his hips further into you, the bulbous tip of his cock prodded at your sweet spot, his balls snug against your ass,

“mhm—yeah jus’ like that, my darling. wrapped around me so good . . ya wanna know why—haah! because we’re made for each other, and no one can prove otherwise.”

lips parting into an ‘o’ shape, you let out a silent moan at how deep atsumu was—tears of pleasure prickled your eyes as he shallowly rocked his hips back, and forth, back, and forth, repeatedly kissing your sensitive core. you could feel him in your throat, and chest where your love for him resided. atsumu places a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose as though he wasn’t balls deep right this very moment, as though his abdomen wasn’t shaking from holding back his impending orgasm, as though you weren’t completely cock-drunk.

for the first time that night, a string of coherent words left your lips, “cumming—fuck! i’m cumming, tsumu!” with furrowed brows, and face contorted in ecstasy, you met atsumu’s gaze who only returned a simple nod before a his hand snaked down, down, down to your clit to rub fast, tight circles,

“cum for me, baby.” atsumu gasped against your parted lips. and you did—completely letting go beneath him, your body shivered in pleasure as you melted onto the sheets below; brain completely turned into mush, and incoherent string of babbles poured from your swollen lips. atsumu didn’t take long to cum, letting out a pained moan before sealing his lips with your own in an open-mouthed kiss while he painted your walls white—cock twitching inside you.

tears lined his eyes from the dizzying pleasure but he couldn’t care less because only you could make him feel this way. no one else.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[afterglowkatie]

pair of pests: drunk ˏˋ°•*⁀ kyra x catley!reader, short fic/blurb

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 1k | based off of this ask

‘Hey Ky, baby I found you,’ You’d been looking around for Kyra since she’d been taking a bit to get your drinks from the bar. You knew Kyra had the tendency to get distracted even more when she’s been drinking. With the amount she’s had tonight you’d tried to keep more of an eye on her. Finding her still at the bar waiting for your drinks, you wrapped your arm around Kyra’s waist, leaning into her side.

You didn’t expect to suddenly stop feeling Kyra’s warmth against you, being caught off guard when she moved out of your embrace, ‘Don’t touch me,’ Kyra turned away from you fully missing the confusion and slight hurt spread across your face. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong or to upset her, ‘Kyra?’ You put your hand on her shoulder trying to get her attention again.

‘I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend,’ Kyra’s voice was slightly slurred and the way she could barely remove your hand from her shoulder, it all clicked for you. You knew she’d been drinking more than usual but you’d never experienced anything like this from her. It eased your worries knowing that you hadn’t upset Kyra, she was just drunk enough that she hadn’t fully recognised that you were the one next to her and that you were the one touching her.

Laughing to yourself, you followed your girlfriend back to the others you’d gone out with. Noticing the way Kyra gave you a bit of a weird look when you’d walked with her back to the table. Though you decided to sit at the other end, sitting next to Katie you whispered to her about the interaction with Kyra at the bar. The two of you laughing together over it.

‘Had a bit too much to drink there Kyra,’ Katie laughed while lightly patting Kyra on the back before resting her hand on Kyra’s shoulder. After what you told Katie she was testing to see her reaction.

‘Ugh stop,’ Kyra groaned attempting to move Katie’s hand off of her shoulder, instead barely being able to make enough contact to push her hand off, ‘I have a girlfriend,’ Kyra emphasised each word, wanting it to be known to Katie and the others around, ‘I don’t know where she is. Just disappeared,’ Kyra leaned her head down against the table, mumbling incoherently. All she really wanted was you. Even in the state she was now, you were still the first thought on her mind. 

It was definitely amusing to witness, but others did think it was quite sweet. At least Steph didn’t have to worry about Kyra ever hurting or breaking her sister's heart, ‘I think someone might be tryna steal your girl,’ Katie was teasing, knowing exactly how to provoke Kyra. You were just having a conversation with Caitlin at the other end, since both your girlfriends had left you by yourselves. 

Katie laughed loudly at how fast Kyra had shot her head up, while Kyra groaned and held her head trying to get the room to stop spinning enough to follow where Katie was pointing. Glaring towards Caitlin before stumbling her way over to where you were.

Before you’d felt, seen or heard Kyra, you saw Caitlin’s eyes drift looking past you with amusement, ‘Baby, I found you,’ Kyra fell into your lap, comments being thrown around how amusing it was to see Kyra in your lap, barely being able to be seen under Kyra, ‘I missed you,’

‘Ky, love, I was with you before,’ You’d wrapped your arms around her waist, keeping her from falling off your lap. Instead of properly processing what you’d said to her, Kyra just smiled widely at you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Kyra kept looking at you with adoration, her fingers grazing the side of your face gently, tucking your hair behind your ear. You’re glad the lighting in this place was quite dull and that Kyra was covering most of you away from anyone, so no one could notice you becoming slightly flustered at her words.

‘Isn’t my beautiful girl just the prettiest,’ Kyra had turned slightly in your lap, talking to literally anyone that was in the general direction she was looking in. Your head barely made it over Kyra’s shoulder to see who was still around.

‘I think that’s subjective…,’ You’d heard Katie start before being nudged by Caitlin to stop her from purposely annoying Kyra.

‘And you’re all mine,’ Kyra wrapped her arms around you tightly

‘All yours baby,’ That’s how the rest of the night went. Kyra had to be touching some part of you at all times or else she’d be all pouty until you’d wrap your arms back around her. 

‘Let’s get you home,’ Kyra was fully leaning her body into yours, she’d been trying to keep her head up until she just let it fall against your shoulder. The night was well and truly over for Kyra and you knew it was for the best to get you both back to either place while Kyra could somewhat still hold herself up.

‘Your place or mine,’ Kyra mumbled, slightly smirking at you with her hand landing back against your thigh.

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing her hand away, ‘I mean get you to bed,’ Your choice of wording wasn’t the best, you should’ve known better, especially when it came to Kyra.

‘Oh,’ Leaning her head to the side, Kyra’s smirk grew. You bit your lip trying to keep your composure, feeling Kyra leave light kisses against your neck right below your ear. The other girls around you definitely noticed, and you knew that you’d both be teased for this later on in the week at training.

‘Good luck,’ You heard Katie yell after you’d finally gotten Kyra up and heading towards the exit. Kyra leaning into you while mumbling about anything and everything that came to her mind, all you could do was laugh.

‘You’re lucky you’re cute,’ You had to basically shove Kyra into the back of the uber, quickly following to make sure she didn’t try to get back out, ‘And that I love you,’

Kyra looked up at you, her head already on your shoulder and body pressed against your side. Eyes drooping until they stayed closed mumbling out a little, ‘I love you more,’

[s0ulsniper]

im yours. bucky barnes x afab!reader || b.b.

pairings: bucky barnes x afab!reader

synopsis: the power goes off in the tower, leaving you to try to stumble down to the living room where everyone was told to meet.

warnings: she/her pronouns used, cursing, both reader and bucky are teases.

tonight had been more than amusing, but also tiring. leaving your saturday night to tony's plans was definitely a choice that you cannot stop making. to give him some credit, his parties are definitely fun, and hanging out with everyone on top of that, too.

but- it always leaves you sprawled out on your bed with the dimly lit television the only thing lighting up your room, other than the obvious street lights.

your head was pounding and your body ached, nothing could quite help that especially with how little you care to help yourself.

that's when the tv shutoff. at first you suspected it was just a glitch of some sort and your groaned as your reached for the remote.

it didn't turn on, even after the 42nd time of pressing it. you took it upon yourself to glance out of the window, moving your curtain slightly to peer out.

none of the city had any sort of power outage.

weird.

the next thing that came to mind is one of the idiots are pranking you.

your eyes roll at the thought. how selfish could they be knowing that you were trying to rest? maybe tony got too drunk and decided to fuck around.

you settled on just going to find out for yourself.

wow, gotta thank tony for not giving out any sort of flashlights.

you use any force you have left to rise yourself from bed. your muscles ache and you wish this didn't ever happen.

the pitch black darkness didn't help you either, everything you knew was there you bumped into causing you to let out a string of curses and you were sure anyone in a 30 foot radius could hear it.

you eventually find your way into the hallway, thankful for some sort of light from the windows.

you get a text, feeling your phone buzz in your pocket.

you open it to read Tony announcing that he had infact overloaded some sort of something and he's going to have to fix it, so everyone was to meet in the living room.

"perfect." you sigh out, annoyed.

not only is that the furthest from you but you knew it would be at least a few hours until it's fixed.

you turn around to the opposite direction, failing to notice the plant at your feet.

"fuck." you grumble when your foot makes contact with the pot.

you whince, trying to walk on it but failing miserably.

"seriously? you’ve lived here for how many years, and you still can’t find your way around with the lights off?” you hear someone laugh behind you.

"don't wanna hear it right now, bucky." you mumble.

his demeanor changes and he pushes himself off the wall to catch up with you.

"what's wrong, doll?"

"oh nothing, just having an amazing night." you retort, sarcastically.

he almost audibly cringes at that, first no nickname, then the sarcasm? something is definitely wrong.

he grabs your wrist to stop you from walking and pulls you towards him, embracing you in a tight hug.

" 'm not letting go till you tell me what's wrong, doll." he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

you relax at his touch and he notices, rubbing incoherent shapes into the dip if your back.

"just real tired, buck. went too hard on myself during training today 'n partied a little too hard."

you loved it when he hugged you like this, the contrast of the cold metal and warm body was only something he would let you know of, well and Steve.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. you really gotta tell me when you feel like this. coulda been helping you." he whispers, rubbing your back and hips. " 'specially since I know how you are. always neglecting yourself. doll, you need a break."

and before you know it he picks you up. on instinct you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his arms hold your thighs.

"what are you doing?" you quiz as you feel him start to walk, not fast but enough to get you guys going to the living room a couple stories down and on the opposite side of the building.

" 'm not letting you walk, just go to sleep doll."

you don't push it more than that, dropping your head to his shoulder with your arms loosely above his, feeling yourself drift to sleep.

you wakeup from the ambiance of your friends talking, feeling yourself slouched against someone on the couch. the lights were still well off, and you were sure it had only been maybe 30 minutes.

you raise your head to see a couple of candles lit here and there. it was enough to see everyone scattered across the living room, Bruce and Nat were chatting on the opposite end of the couch, Steve and Sam sound asleep on the floor, Thor was also sound asleep on the recliner, Pietro, vision and Wanda were sat on another couch watching something on their phone, and you suspected Bruce, Tony, pepper, and rhodey were trying to fix the power somewhere around the tower.

that's when you panicked to look around for bucky, eyes darting around the living room.

"right here, sweetheart." he chuckles.

you turn too see that you were definitely straddling him as you had been when he picked you up.

your lips quirk up trying not to laugh at yourself. instead you slump back against him, hiding your face in his neck.

"embarrassing." you mumble.

"it was cute." you can practically hear him smiling.

"you think so?" you tease, bringing your face up just a few inches from his.

his face flushes and you smile.

"sure know how to shut me up." he whispers not to bother the others. "be mine."

it was unexpected, although it's the only thing that's been on both of your minds for awhile.

"sure know how to shut me up." you whisper back with reddened cheeks.

he nudges your face up with his pointer finger, his face even closer than before.

his eyes dart from yours to your lips.

"say the word and I'll stop."

his hand doesn't leave your chin, but instead slides to the nape of your neck to draw you closer until you feel his lips on yours.

your lips move together like puzzle pieces and it's something you two have been waiting for and dreaming about for eternity it felt like.

you pull away despite you both not wanting to, either way you two are still around the rest and it cannot get further than that.

your foreheads rest together, both regaining the breaths you lost.

"please be mine." he whispers just so you could hear.

you lay back against him to fall back asleep.

"I'm yours." you whisper back.

[webbluvrsugar]

so how abouttt bully reader messing with ethan by flirting with him & she’s like kinda teasing him in that way bc she knows he has a big fat crush on her

kinda like regina george energy a little bit where she acts soo nice as a way of mocking you dhzbsb

or alternatively,, alison dilaurentis’ energy towards emily fields iykyk🙂‍↕️

a/n: this really hit the spot!! Also sorry for taking so long to write this T-T

not proofread

﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆. ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭ Ethan has a big fat crush on bully!reader

Ethan keeps telling himself he needs to stop telling Chad everything, sure the guy is his best friend but he’s also completely awful at keeping secrets and he always ends up telling someone. So Ethan didn’t really believe him when he said “Chill man, your secret’s safe with me.”, he knew he would tell someone, he just didn’t expect he would tell you and that you would be so forward to make him know you know.

The group decided to go to the movies and while everyone finished paying for their tickets, you and Ethan waited in line to get your popcorn. It didn’t take more than 5 minutes without your phone for you to turn your attention to him and remembered what Chad told you when you were both passed out drunk, a mumble of incoherent words which you could only make out to be “Ethan is toootally in love with you.”

“So… Ethan..” you say, sultry, he turns his attention to you almost unsure.

“Yeah?” He questions, steps forward when another person leaves the line.

“Chad told me you had a crush on a girl at campus, soo cute,” you smile, he returns the smile nervously. “you’ll finally get to — I don’t know — hold hands and walk around for the first time.”

He slightly blushes, holds his hands together as he slowly nods at you.

“Well.. yeah but it’s not exactly like that…” he tries to explain.

“Who is she?” You question, fiddle with your hair as you take another step closer.

Now, Ethan doesn’t want to exactly tell you who the girl is, but he also doesn’t know how to cover himself up for the mess Chad made — jesus, he really needs to reevaluate his friends.

“You wouldn’t know her.”

Surely, you’ll drop it, right?

“Come on, I know every single soul in that place, even the weird ones like you.” You push, lean into him with a soft smile.

You finally get your turn, Ethan hands the ticket to the cashier before he nervously turns to look at you. “No but she’s just… like… uhhhh…”

“You don’t need to pretend, Ethan, I know you like me.” You chuckle, lean onto the counter as you wait. “It’s kinda cute, you know? You have that little fantasy in your mind.”

He swallows, his lips press onto a line as he grabs his popcorn and his drink, slowly nods towards you.

“I wonder what other shit you think about in that room of yours.” You smirk, glance at your popcorn and than back at him.

Ethan sighs and rolls his eyes, makes an effort to grab your stuff too. He doesn’t know why he does it, but you flash him a smile of approval that makes him forget he’s being humiliated right in front of the others as you walk inside the dark rooms of the theatre.

And when the movie is playing the most cheesy, romantic scenes you’ve seen, you can’t help but turn to Ethan, lay a hand in his thigh, maybe taking a sip of his drink and leaving that glossy pink mark around his straw.

He’s not thinking about how he carried your drinks anymore.

He’s much more focused on that small little detail instead of the movie, it even makes him move the popcorn to hide something else.

[heartchoi]

tutor ㅡ c.sb

pairing: tutor!soobin x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

warnings: dom!soobin, sub!reader, clothed sex, unprotected, creampie, slight overstim, dirty talk, cockwarming, pet names, dacryphilia, (Kind of) dumbification, a bit of possessive soobie at the end

(continuation of this blurb)

originally, soobin was supposed your english tutor.

however, you think that you’ve gone too far to consider soobin as just your tutor now. not after this.

it’s quite unclear how you’ve gotten yourself here; sitting on soobin’s lap while his huge cock rests inside you, filling you to the hilt. a discarded stack of books are pushed onto the side of your desk, a witness to the situation you’re both in.

soobin bounces his leg, laughing at the way you whimper, clamping your walls on his dick immediately. “please,” you gasp. “don’t tease, soobin- fuck!” you whine, soobin bouncing his leg again. “do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, mock sympathy in his voice.

“tell me, pretty girl.” soobin turns your head gently to face him, flashing a dimpled smile once you meet eyes. god, it’s hard to believe that this is the man whose huge cock is buried deep in your guts. “tell me, how badly do you need me?” he rolls his hips slightly, the tip of his cock pressing against a spot that had your eyes rolling back. “can’t speak? i haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

soobin chuckles at the effect he has on you, a mess already and all he’s done is let you cockwarm him. “i’m sorry, baby.” he whispers. wet tears filled your eyes from desperation and the pleasure of just having his cock inside you. you’re only able to blink before the tears drop, and stream down your face in tiny wet streams.

soobin kisses the tears away gently, softly apologizing as he promises to fuck you like a proper man should.

soobin kisses the tears away gently, softly apologizing as he promises to fuck you like a proper man should.

carefully, soobin sets aside the stray pencils and pens that littered your desk, opting to put them in a ceramic pen holder nearby. he lifts you easily before setting you on the desk.

you’re finally allowed to get a good look at him as you face soobin, his cock throbbing inside your heat. hair messily framed his face, strands falling in between his eyes and nose while his dress shirt continues to cover his figure. a few buttons have been undone at the top, courtesy of your desire for him. his jeans and belt were barely halfway down his thighs, clear evidence that you both were too horny and impatient to undress fully.

damn. he looks nice.

soobin brings an arm under your thigh. lifting it slightly over his shoulder. his free hand reaches up to grab one of your boobs, kneading the flesh.

“are you ready for me? i won’t be gentle.” he says, eyes boring into yours. you gulp, nodding your head. a fresh wave of arousal wets his cock. soobin hums, pulling out until the blunt head rests in between your folds before plunging himself right back in. the powerful thrust rips a cry out of you, there was no way he wasn’t going to fuck you stupid by the time he was finished with you.

"ah, you're tight." soobin groans out, bucking his hips into yours. "might fuck you like this every time i see you. maybe you'd actually pay attention to your lessons, hm?"

the words barely registered in your head, already too cock drunk to think straight. "thats what you are, isn’t it? just a doll for me to fuck into place." soobin hums. you whine incoherently, agreeing to whatever he said despite the fact you don't know what the hell he's talking about.

the only thing on your mind is how fucking huge his dick is, gliding smoothly inside you and hitting all the right places.

soobin's husky voice continues to feed dirty thoughts into your ear, the raspy tone sending vibrations through your body. his hips barrel into yours repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping becoming louder and louder. strings of wetness connect the two of you, the fresh waves of slick from your pussy covering both your thighs.

a tight knot forms in your stomach. tears flow down your face again, the pleasure too much for your body and mind to handle. soobin grins as he presses his forehead against yours. "does it feel too good, baby?" he asks. "i know, my cock just feels so good, doesn't it?" soobin brings a thumb to your cheek, wiping away a single tear. "what do you want, pretty? use your words. i know you can do it." he stares straight into your eyes, never breaking the eye contact. the man wants nothing more but for you to tell him directly what you want, it seems.

"i..." you stutter. "i wan.. want to come. p-please." soobin flashes a toothy grin, an innocent face compared to the way he changes his pace inside you; rutting into you like it's the end of the world. "is that so? come on my cock then."

soobin delivers a few more thrusts, and your vision turns white from how strong your orgasm is. by the time you come to, theres an increased wetness between the two of you, soobin's thighs covered in your sweet nectar.

and yet, he's still fucking you.

the sensitivity makes you moan, telling him that it's "too much" and that you "can't handle it." soobin hushes you, pressing a finger to your lips. "wait for me." he says, sternly.

soobin's thrusts grow harsher and harsher as he nears his climax. theres no way he hasnt dug into your stomach at this point, you think. his movements become rougher as well, groping your tits and sucking hickeys on any fresh skin he can get his hands on. "you're mine now, baby. no one can fuck you as well as i can." he growls. the newly possessive nature of his makes you moan out his name.

"fuck, you're so hot. you don't know how long i've been waiting to do this. say my name again." he demands. "s- soobin!" you cry out for him. soobin's thrusts falter, becoming sloppier and sloppier as he lets out a loud, breathy moan into your ear. "good girl."

minutes feel like hours when he finally gasps, pushing himself inside of you as far as he can before he fills you. warm, white ropes of cum paint your insides, marking himself inside of you. soobin pants exhaustedly, pulling out his softened cock before flopping back into the chair behind him.

"fuck."

[castiwls]

peter - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me’

Requested; anons

Notes; this is long (for me) and sad :( reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Dean Winchester was a man you’d never be able to understand. You’d only been 18 the first time you’d met him. You’d been bright-eyed and optimistic about the world, freshly out of high school and enjoying your newfound freedom when you’d stumbled into a dinner drunk on cheap vodka and craving some sort of food.

He’d caught your eye almost immediately. Your drunken confidence led to you finding yourself in the seat opposite him, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched you ramble almost incoherently before falling silent.

That meeting alone led to a six-year relationship. For a moment you’d believed that Dean may have been the one. That you’d been one of the lucky few to find your soulmate at a young age meaning you’d get to live your life out with him.

And then everything seemed to unravel right before your eyes and you were hopeless to do anything. Dean quickly went from someone you saw your future with, to someone you’d seemingly outgrown - even though you were two years younger.

By 25 you were ready to settle down, traveling around the country had been appealing when you were 18 yet it began to feel like a chore. You wanted a home, a place you could go back to after a long day and feel safe.

You’d argued about it until once you’d had enough. You’d left with nothing more than a note explaining yourself.

It had been years since you’d even thought about Dean Winchester yet now you found yourself face to face with a man you’d long since given up on.

Dean’s smile was the same. His eyes still held that sparkle that you’d loved yet it had dimmed slightly, his eyes more tired.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. You swallowed watching him. “Why are you here?”

“What. I can’t stop by and say hello?” He pushed off the door frame stepping slightly closer. He continued to smile yet you’d noticed it failed to reach his eyes. A small frown pulled at your lips as you placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong.” He shook his head. “Dean, I’m not stupid. Somethings wrong, and where is Sam?” You ran your hand up his arm before placing it on his shoulder. His face dropped slightly at the mention of his brother. He sucked in a breath, his body seeming to deflate slightly.

Oh

“Dean i…I’m so sorry.” You sighed pressing your hand to his cheek. He stayed quiet simply leaning into your touch his eyes fluttering shut. 

You’d once promised yourself you’d never let Dean Winchester back into your life unless he finally agreed to grow up. Yet standing there in that moment you still saw that 18-year-old you’d met at the dinner.

Moving your hand from his cheek you stepped back. 

“I have a guest room.”

–

“He’s alive.” Your tone was dripping with disbelief as you stared at the man opposite you. Dean nodded his back against the counter. “Yeah.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “He has been for a while.” Dean was talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world, he was using the same tone he’d use whenever you’d discuss dinner, or whose turn it was to take the trash out.

This was utterly insane. Even after he’d filled you in on everything that had happened since you left you still found the whole thing insane. Yet it was Dean so you’d believed him. You’d allowed him back in your bed and over the past year you’d fallen right back in love with him.

You’d finally got what you’d wanted. The life you dreamed of with him was a reality and you’d grown so comfortable that you’d almost forgotten what he’d told you years ago.

“I love you. But I can't leave hunting behind, It’s my whole life!”

The words had stung then and they stung more now as you stood opposite him in your kitchen. 

“So your going with him.” You crossed your arms and swallowed back the hurt which lay heavy in your chest. “You're going back.”

Dean watched you for a moment, his eyes downcast for a moment. “Sweetheart I have to-”

“No, you want to.”

Dean paused as you cut him off, taking a small step forward. He placed a hand on your arm. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at his hand for a moment before pulling back and turning around. In doing so you missed the look of hurt which flashed across Dean’s face before he followed you out of the room.

Walking into the living room you grabbed a blanket off the floor, folding it before turning back to him. “I know you're not sorry. I know part of you is glad, glad that you’ve finally got your get-out-of-jail card.” You placed the blanket down as he crossed his arms. “Thats no-”

“You don’t have to lie Dean. I know you well enough to know damn well that you could never walk away from hunting.” You let out a breath sitting down on the couch.

“I’m not mad. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair, leaning forward on your knees. “I really thought that maybe you’d finally grown up. That you’d realised that hunting isn’t a forever thing. But I guess I was wrong.” 

Dean sat beside you, his hand grasping yours in his. “That’s not true.” He shook his head. You turned to look out the window, your eyes closing for a moment as tears burned at your eyes.

Dean watched you for a moment before gently grasping your chin and turning you to face him. “This year…This year proved to me that maybe hunting isn’t my be-all and end-all. But I miss it.” He admitted quietly. “And I can’t let Sam do this alone, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Your eyes stayed on his as he cupped your cheek with his hand. “I love you.”

You sucked in a breath before swallowing. “Yet you still broke your promise.” 

Dean frowned, squinting slightly as he tried to figure out what you could mean.

“The note.” 

His eyes flashed with realisation before he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I told you to come back when you had grown up and were ready to walk away, and only when.”

His face dropped. “When I came that was true. Sam made me promise that when it happened I would follow through on that promise and I did. I did for you and for him.” He moved closer stroking your cheek. “Sweetheart you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. But you still broke that promise.” You took a breath to compose yourself. “And I can’t wait forever, Dean.”

[lonelychicago]

hi!! idk what this is, it just came to me and i wanted to write it so... yeah.

"Buck," Eddie sighs and looks down at the blond, lying half-naked on his bed, so drunk that he has fallen asleep. At least he managed to get rid of his clothes, they’re all in a heap on Eddie's bedroom floor, and he’s only wearing his boxer briefs. In any other circumstances, Eddie would be over the moon.

Right now, though? He's just angry and sad. Angry at all the people who's made Buck feel like he's not enough and sad because – well, Buck is the sun. He's the best man Eddie knows and he deserves so much better than the shitty cards life has given him.

Eddie nudges him lightly, but Buck only snores in response.

"How is he?" Maddie asks, sticking his head through the open door. He looks like she’s about to leave.

"Out cold," Eddie mutters. "I've never seen him this drunk, to be honest."

"Yeah, he's taken the break-up pretty badly." Maddie sighs. "Do you need me to stay tonight?"

"No, it's okay. I got him."

And Eddie does. He'll notice if Buck wakes up or if he pukes in his sleep. Eddie will keep Buck safe. He has his back, he's always had.

He doesn’t sleep that night. Instead he tucks Buck in, checking that he isn’t too hot or too cold. When Buck slightly wakes up, his eyes fluttering open and squinting in the dimmed lit room, he turns to Eddie and mutters an "I'm sorry." that Eddie doesn't quite understand what is for.

Buck wakes up a little more later in the night and clings to Eddie, whispering to himself. Eddie manages to only get half of it. "I tried, I tried making it work." and "She'll wasn’t you. She never would be you."

Words that make Eddie's heart grow wings and at the same time shatter it entirely because he doesn't – he doesn't dare to hope. Buck is drunk and incoherent.

And then Eddie sits on the chair in the corner of his bedroom, making sure that Buck won’t suffocate on his own vomit, or something else. He doesn’t relax until Buck gets up around 5 AM, probably more asleep than awake, to go to the bathroom without even noticing Eddie sitting there. He pauses when he walks back in the room, though, and frowns at Eddie, like he's trying to determine if he's dreaning or if Eddie really is there.

"Eddie?" Buck whispers, his voice hoarse and cloaky.

"Yeah."

And maybe it's because the alcohol hasn't quite left Buck’s body yet, maybe it's because he's still in the drunk haze mixed in with the remainings of his sleep tired brain, but Buck reaches out for Eddie in the softest, most vulnerable way possible and asks: "Sleep with me?"

And Eddie can't seem to refuse. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to refuse Buck for anything. Not in this lifetime.

[nottsdarling]

Drunk Rambles

: ex!bf theo x reader

: word count ; 706

: cw: MNDI!!!, smut, drunk!theo, sexual languages, praise, body worship (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving), face riding, rekindling

: a/n! this is my first fic ever so I’m sorry if there’s any errors etc ^_^

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

The soft blankets fell against your legs as you got out of bed, investigating the continuous knocking and thumps at your dorm room door. Slender fingers reached out towards the brassy doorknob, twisting it with a slight creak. Your mouth fell agape. Standing (well rather swaying) infront of you was Theodore Nott, a man you swore to never interact with again. With a quick look, you slammed the door in his face just about when he was going to speak. Your almost limp body slide down the wooden door, unable to think straight.

Do I let him in? What do I do? Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Slowly pushing your body upwards, and straightening out a few strands of hair, you unlocked the door again. Theodore fell into your arms, slurring his words to the point where you couldn’t understand.

“I miss hic you… p-please… I- I need to-“

He spoke, mumbling and wiping his salvia all over your chest. Letting out a pitiful sigh, you dragged him towards your bed, pushing him underneath the covers.

“I… I need you… I need to tell you…”

Theo began speaking again, trying his best to coordinate his words together so that you would understand. His body instinctively scooted closer to yours, gravitating towards your touch. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing becoming uneven. He inhales deeply, savoring your scent. Oh how he loved how you smelt, your touch, everything. He eventually pulls away, mumbling something incoherently against the soft skin of your neck.

“What did you say? Theo?”

You whispered, your voice trembling ever so slightly. Your heart pounds in your chest, as his touch sent a shiver down your spine. Pushing his hand away from your thighs, you shook your head.

“You’re drunk. You’re drunk Theo, no.”

He nodded, acknowledging that he was in-fact under the influence. A drunken smile spread across his (handsome) face.

“But that doesn’t make anything… hic… less true, principessa.”

He mutters, his hand traveling down to your thighs again. You blushed, squeezing your thighs together against his large hand.

“You’re so beautiful… so hic pretty… I need you, bambina.”

Theo whispered, his voice an octave lower as his index finger began to rub your clit through your soaked panties. Letting a small moan slip, Theo felt his cock instantly harden. Slipping a finger into your wet hole, you let out a small whimper.

“You’re so fucking perfect… you always have been, so pretty and your body così bello.”

He spoke, his voice ringing out through your eardrums. Softly pulling down your shirt, he exposed your boobs. He almost came on the sight of them. Pulling his hand back, Theo sucked on his index finger, devouring the taste of your cunt. You didn’t know how you got in this position, but you didn’t care because it felt so fucking good. Slowly rocking your hips against Theodore’s mouth, you swore that it felt better than it used too.

“Ohh fuckk,”

You moaned out, your hands supporting your body by pressing up against the wooden headboard. Maybe because you were so pent up, or maybe you missed his mouth, but he had made you cum in under 6 minutes.

“T-Theo! Holy fuck… fuck fuck!”

Almost screaming out his name as you felt the knot in your stomach snap, letting all your juices and cum be licked up like a hungry man by Theo.

Letting Theo rest on your bare chest was something else. The spark between you two had been relit, emerging into a new flame of love and forgiveness. You missed him, just as much as Theo had missed you.

“You did so good, cara bella,”

Theo murmured into the skin of your left breast, his other hand resting on the right. You blushed, your fingers entwined with his soft locks.

“I missed you… I didn’t know what to do so I turned to drinking again… I’m sorry, forgive me,”

He begged, his eyes showing genuine emotion. You felt your heart throb, you had missed him too. It somewhat hurt to realize that this breakup was for the worst, and not the best.

“I’ll always love you, we’re soulmates, tesoro…”

To which you agreed with a gentle kiss on his forehead.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Reblogs, follows etc are appreciated!!!

Please do not repost my work on any platform w/o permission + credits.

Have an amazing day and/or nights my angels mwah!

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

[gustavsbrainneuron]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Jealousy.

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎2011 Bill Kaulitz × female reader.

Warnings: smut and a little bit of angst, unprotected sex, p in v, dacryphilia, choking, cheating, Bill being an alpha and "punishing" f!reader.

Author's note: i don't even consider this a fic, it's mpre of a "drabble" thing. It's the shortest thing i've ever writtwn and I absolutEly HATED it. 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ Sorry if there are any mistakes, english isn't my first language. AND THANKS FOR THE 80 FOLLOWERS I LOVW YALL SM OMFG ^_^ !!1!!1

It all started a few days ago, when I drank a lot at a party and decided that I had enough for that night. When I went out into the dark and cold streets, walking through the alleys while looking for my boyfriend, one of the boys from my college appeared out of nowhere; It was a boy I didn't know much, but he looked like Bill, even though he wasn't him - Maybe I was a little drunk, like, really drunk. We started talking, I said I was looking for Bill and I don't know if he was drunk too, I just know that he approached me and kissed me, and I didn't try to pull away for any second during the kiss, I just accepted being kissed by that "stranger".

The next day, obviously, rumors started to spread at the college, someone said that they had seen me kissing some other boy who wasn't Bill. My boyfriend even asked me about it, but I denied it and denied it, with a lot of guilt and shame; but I was too drunk, that's why I ended up kissing that guy, it could have been worse, right?

Between me and that boy it wasn't worse, but between me and Bill everything was worse. Someone had taken a photo of me kissing that boy, how would I defend myself from that? It was simple, I just didn't try to defend myself. And that's why I was in this situation now, in Bill's room.

His body was pressed on top of mine, my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, while he held my hands above my head, squeezing them with a certain force.

"You." Thrust. "Are." Thrust. "My fucking girlfriend!" Thrust.

"Why did you kiss another guy, huh?" He questioned, slamming against me, eliciting a loud whimper from me that echoed throughout the room, still without a response from my lips that only knew how to whimper and release small incoherent words. He looked at my face with anger and jealousy and I looked back at him with desire - okay, maybe that's a little sick, but it doesn't change the fact that he's hotter when he looks at me like that, like he had me in the palm of his hand and the bastard really had me.

When I didn't answered his question, Bill released one of my large hands and brought my face closer to his, the hand that was free came to my neck, putting pressure there; light but enough for me to still breathe with slight difficult. "Your silence only makes me angrier." He commented, his tone of voice being very stern, not gentle at all. My free hand went to his wrist, squeezing it there weakly as I closed my eyes, my eyelids closing almost automatically due to the pleasure - which seemed illegal to feel in this situation, but was inevitable. "Answer me! Why?" He demanded, watching my expression contort in pleasure, which brought a wicked smile to his pierced lips, making him squeeze my neck tighter.

My brain was clouded, I couldn't think of existing words to say to him. I wanted to apologize, I wanted to explain myself but it seemed like no words would leave my lips without an insistent whine, almost non-existent due to the pressure of his hand on my neck.

"M'sorry.." I managed to speak quickly before my own whimper interrupted me, my body trembling slightly against the tall figure that was pounding on top of me constantly. "Sorry!.. I'm so..ngh! Sorry!" I spoke more clearly, feeling his hand move away from my neck and return to my hand, placing it above my head and squeezing both of my hands.

"You don't feel sorry at all, Y/n." He said through gritted teeth and with a powerful thrust, he drives himself deeper into my sensitive folds, his cock twitching inside me, making me cry out in pleasure and pain at the same time, my hands tightening around his. "You're going to be my good little whore and you will remember this lesson whenever your little head thinks of another boy besides me." He spoke in a dark promise, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room as the bed creaked underneath us with each thrust he made.

"I- aah! I'm really sorry... please, please, I'm sorry!" I begged for forgiveness and for mercy, my lips letting out a long cry, my eyelids tightly closed as my legs shook; falling limply into the bed, letting him have more access to my body. Tears formed beneath my eyelids, everything was very intense, from his words to the way he fucked me.

Bill grunted at my attempts to apologize so desperately, letting go of my hands; which immediately went to his broad shoulders. He moved his big hands down to my waist, the sheet dragging along with his hands. His long, thin fingers squeezed my waist, marking what he thought was only his. "I should have left you when I found out you were an unfaithful slut." He answered, not accepting my apologies, speaking with a tone that demonstrated a certain vulnerability, even though his voice was still firm. Suddenly, he just stopped pounding into me, pulling out until only his tip remained inside me as he looked down, observing my reddened face. "Make me believe you're truly sorry, Y/n." He used his hands that were on my waist to his advantage, lifting my waist slightly so he could aim directly at that sensitive point inside me. Entering me suddenly; the fat tip pressing at a sweet spot that made me let out a loud and weak cry, my hands desperately going towards his back, taking out all the desire I felt - with each scratch I made on his hot and slightly sweaty skin. "Do you feel this? This is me claiming you. Showing you that you're mine alone." He said more to himself than to me, letting out a few grunts against the way I was clenching around him. Wanting to tease me, he started grinding his tip against that spot inside me in slow circles with his hips, making me see stars beneath my eyelids.

"Bill!" I whimpered loudly and shakily, opening my already teary eyes to look at him. My waist tried to seek more movement, moving to feel more of Bill; trying to make him move more or do something that would stop him from rubbing against that spot.

"What was that?" He questioned, pressing more of his tip against my sensitive spot, smiling when he saw tears running down my face. "Look at yourself, Y/n. See how wrecked you are from my cock?" He mocked, giving a low laugh as he saw how affected I was, he started to move his waist suddenly, his dick punching that spot hard, pressing his cock even deeper inside me - if that was even possible.

My eyes only rolled back in response, my hands went down to his waist, trying to stop the aggressive movements against that spot but failing miserably. The room was filled with his grunts, my loud moans, the bed creaking and suddenly everything seemed to turn white. My mind couldn't even think anything as I just let out one last long and loud, pathetic whine, cumming as my body shook.

Bill's face went down to my neck, nibbling the warm, soft skin, marking me with hickeys as he waited for the waves of pleasure to pass through my body, still giving slow but deep thrusts inside me. "You still haven't convinced me that you regret what you did. I think we'll stay here for a few hours." He smiled against my neck, feeling my breathing quicken beneath his kisses and hickeys.

Now I knew that we were going to have a long night and that I would probably have to think twice before drinking too much.

ohlala 🤤

im sorry i just wanted to put something here 🙁🙁

[queerfortress2]

Oh my god, I loved the way you described the support classes in an argument, I feel like it was totally spot-on. Would you be willing to write how the other classes would be in an argument, as well? Or, at least maybe the defence classes?? Thank you and have a wonderful day! 🥰

another engineer (technically) one, im in heaven. also, thank you! (also so very sorry for how short it is, my brain is so very very fried from art fight.) — mod engie

GN!READER X DEFENSE CLASSES ; ARGUMENTS

DEMOMAN

out of all of them? he is the best. he can actually recognize that he is wrong in an argument after the fact and apologise, which is crazy by mercenary means. after all, most of his problems are solved by alcohol and bombs, but he cares about you enough not to blow you up, so be thankful for that.

that being said… he’s also drunk most of the time, so the former may not even apply when you’re arguing. he most likely won’t recognise he’s even arguing— hell! he might not even remember he’s arguing halfway through and begin talking about a completely unrelated topic. it’s kind of difficult to continue from there, considering he’s either too drunk to recognise you, sleeping, or taking another swig out of a comically large bottle.

"Aye..! I know y’er mad aboot th’ match but in—" His glassy eyes looked around, almost not at you, rather your general surroundings, his leg limp slightly. Be tilted to the right as he looked towards the fireplace of the lounging area, stumbling slightly, "—Wh’teva’ ‘s really jus’ ah… hic!—" Almost on cue, the man had practically fallen, stumbling over, falling asleep momentarily. The second his body loses balance, you seem to have been forced by your instinct to catch him. The impact between him and your arms almost knocked you both over, but thankfully he slowly rose back up to his feet and looked you in the eyes. Unfortunately for you, he already forgot about the argument, and began incoherently babbling about how he missed being this close to you. ..Maybe bring it up another time. One of the rare hours when he’s sober.

when he's sober afterwards i imagine its a lot easier to have a conversation with him, after all he's usually willing to admit he was in the wrong, and a lot of the time, its not a big argument. he's just not a man easy to anger. while the support classes are much easier to aggravate. a common theme seems to be the defense class men are just a loooooot more patient. (also a lot more apologetic)

ENGINEER

its genuinely really hard to argue with this man because he is (most of the time) correct. even if it is an argument you thought you knew all about he's INFURIATINGLY on top. why? well, he does his research really. he's not as willing to win silly little debates but when it comes to much more serious decisions being made. or, say, doing something utterly STUPID at work that could've gotten you killed. yeah, the respawn exists, but darn it that don' mean you can play with it!

so when you, say, fuck around with dangerous technology, he will 100% start arguing. not because he hates you for messing with his latest trinket, but because you could've gotten seriously hurt! that's not a game he's willing to play. unlike the medic, he doesn't often fuck around with satan, the poor texan doesn't want to grow more grey hair in his... beard? eyebrows? i don't know, dell is practically bald.

"WHAT were you THINKING?" The Texan dropped his hard hat onto the desk beside him. The man works late nights to make sure no one gets royally fucked by that dangerous machine his Grandfather created a few generations before, and you're skipping out of it like it's a playground? It's safe to say his blood pressure suffers due to your recklessness. Though it was clear his volume was unwarranted, he finally started over with a long sigh, talking at a normal volume. "Y'know that thin' wasn't always 'dere? Dontcha? Don't get too comfortable with that thin'. I don' wanna see you get hurt, y' hear me?" Dell really didn't want to hear your side of the argument, after all, in his mind there was no reason in hell OR heaven for you to just casually run at the flames of the opposing Pyro for 'funsies'. Imagine how it is for him to see you die in numerous ways on the battle field. It AIN'T NICE, to say the least.

no matter how long the argument went on, he would eventually shut you down with a good 'don't pull that shit again' and move out to take a lap. he takes a lot longer to cool down than the other two defense mercenaries, mostly because whenever he argues genuinely, it gets rather personal. even if to you it seemed rather 'impersonal' and 'professional' feel-y, in his heart it was because all the machinery is what gives his family their name. whenever he sees someone messing around with it? it genuinely ticks him off.

HEAVY

man of little words argues the least, mostly because, unlike engineers, everything is rather impersonal. he's definitely heard it all, and while i don't think he apologises as often, it's also just difficult to get him to argue THAT BADLY. the most you get out of him is maybe two words telling you not to do something, and even then there's not that much room for argument is there? you either do what he's asked of you or you don't. both are things he can't quite control. he's just as stubborn, as you can tell he just does his own thing, only following directions when he can see it's vital for his or others' survival.

not impossible to argue with him, however. there are times when you can get him to argue, but its usually not anything important. perhaps you had a different opinion on how a cliffhanger was supposed to be interpreted? now we're getting somewhere. maybe you have a rather negative imagine of fyodor's brothers. he's not gonna let you pass without explaining why.

"I just didn't understand what the Father was supposed to mean in all that!" You may have exclaimed as you sat across from the largest mercenary on the team, yet sat composed in a comfortable sofa chair, with small glasses and a comically small book in hand. He wasn't usually seen like this, after all, most people see him screaming violently on the field. It's only this side that you see most commonly late at night. The way you seemed to speak of it was rather surface-level. Which, not to blame you, it's a Russian novel, not many are reading it at all. Heavy never owned books in English. So it's really just for you to 'suck up and take' while reading with him. Thankfully, he's taught you enough to have you fill in the blanks with common sense. Perhaps it was just American society getting to you. Back at home, the meaning was a lot easier to grasp, knowing that most were under a similar crushing situation under the new rule. At least in Russian society, where a lot of knowledge is needed to even begin to understand the book, the brothers' differences were clear in what they represented and what their father represented, especially in the modern day with the uprising and new government, filled with Soviet control. The man stared lost in thought at you, which is mighty intimidating on its own, before actually speaking up. "Ah, no." He simply shook his head, leaning forward in his chair for you to hear him better, "He uses father in metaphor not..." He snapped his finger attempting to remember the English word for his sentence. "Literal. Father mean more than just caretaker. Mean oppression." It sounded as if he were to continue before he simply sat back and relaxed back into his chair.

it didn't exactly feel like an argument, in fact it felt more like he was informing you. but that's genuinely the closest i could ever imagine him getting to an argument. he just doesn't seem like that type of guy.